


Habit

by cosmiccastles



Category: Homestuck
Genre: BDSM, Burnplay, Burns, Cigarettes, Collars, Crying, Degradation, Dom!Dave, Dom!Dave/Sub!Bro, Dom/sub, Leashes, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Slapping, Small Dom/Big Sub, Smoking, injuries, sub!bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2489657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmiccastles/pseuds/cosmiccastles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bro's been smoking. Dave disapproves.<br/>Habits are hard to break, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Habit

**Author's Note:**

> thank u so much to terminalmau5 for beta-ing this for me!!! luv u <3

He’s on his third cigarette when Dave gets home from school, the remains of the prior two crumpled and soggy in the bottom of an old Orange Crush bottle at his feet. At the sound of the door, he looks over his shoulder with a smile.

“Hey.” He greets, following it up with a long drag, swishing the smoke around in his mouth for a few moments before breathing it in and out. All his brother offers at the moment is a short nod of recognition, dumping his backpack in its usual space next to the fridge before rifling around in the cabinets for his daily bag of chips. Bro waits patiently, gaze rolling up to the ceiling as the familiar and comfortable sound of pans clattering fills the silent apartment.

“Good day at school?” He eventually asks, voice harmonizing with the crinkling of plastic. His bet is on… Cheetos. “Mm.” Huh. It isn’t often that all he gets is a grunt in response. He hopes the kid’s feeling okay.

The crinkling of fingers digging into the aluminum bag gets closer and closer as Dave makes his way to the futon. As if that wasn’t enough of a declaration of his presence, he makes a point out of flopping heavily next to Bro, lanky legs draped crookedly across his lap.

Damn. Doritos. He should’ve guessed. 

Bro glances over, smoke smoldering and unattended to in his hand as he browses his brother’s expression, a cryptic sort of thing given that it’s currently buried in a bag of Cool Ranch. “Guess I’ll take that as a no, then?” He takes another drag, this time exhaling the smoke towards Dave, though not out of purpose or malice, simply by virtue of direction. His brother looks up at that, and there’s the Dave he knows – easier to read than See Spot Run.

“Nah.” He replies smoothly, though he’s soon stumbling over himself as he swiftly adds, “Thought you were tryin’ to quit.” The venom in his words is less than a drop’s worth, but, hey. That’s all it takes to kill a grown man.

Bro glances over at his cigarette, leaning over to tap some of the lingering ash out into the bottle. Why use a proper ashtray when you had trash? Reduce, reuse, recycle. He considers taking another drag, because that’s what his body wants him to do. Given the conversation, though, he decides against it. What a waste. He looks back over with a small, sheepish smile, doing his best to keep some authority in his voice as he replies, “I am trying. I’m not going cold turkey, dude, that shit’s even more likely to make you relapse.” 

Alright, admittedly, he isn’t trying as hard as he can. Hey, effort is effort, right? Judging by the look on Dave’s face, however, the kid can tell he isn’t putting his all into it. Loathe as he is to admit it, the edge of hard disappointment in his brother’s face has a guilty knot tangling itself up in his stomach. But he takes an Alexandrian approach to things – slice right through that shit. It doesn’t exactly satisfy the parameters of what he should be doing, but it’s worked well enough so far, and that’s fine by him.

Dave’s quiet for a little while, assuredly musing over Bro’s legitimate argument, crunching thoughtfully on chips. Bro watches him, waiting for a reaction, cigarette still hanging languid between his fingers. Of course, it’s only just once he’s brought it up to his lips to take another drag that his brother speaks, retorting, “Well, I don’t think you’re trying hard enough.” 

It isn’t an entirely unexpected response, but it does have Bro pausing, hand poised before chapped lips, wrapped limply around the filter. There’s a moment of inaction between them both, broken by his deep inhale. Dave’s brow flickers, and he averts his gaze shamefully. 

“Look, dude…” He sighs, breathing out smoke with his words. Again, it drifts towards Dave, and while it isn’t on purpose, he’s sure his brother is reading it as an attack. He visibly sours, tossing the chips aside and folding his arms across his chest. Again, Bro pauses, locking eyes for a moment before continuing. “It’s not as easy to quit as you might think.”

Wrong thing to say. “Give it to me.” Dave demands, sitting up and leaning forward, palm held out like an elementary school teacher asking for a wad of gum. He doesn’t spit it into his hand – hell, doesn’t even get a chance to place it between his fingers. His brother’s impatient, giving him scarcely a moment to react before he plucks it right from his mouth. A muffled noise threatens to escape him, but he manages to hold it back. Protest would not be in his best interest at the moment.

Dave takes a moment to just examine the thing, still smoldering at the tip, and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. Bro’s wilting, lamenting the loss of his fallen carcinogenic comrade, wishing that he could’ve at least finished the thing off. Dave seems willing enough to do it for him, though, as he takes a drag himself, slow and easy as he holds the smoke in his mouth before taking it in. 

He exhales it into his face with a smile, and Bro shudders, doing his best to hold back a cough, even though the jerk of his shoulder blades most likely betrays him. Dave just grins at him, a condescending thing, lingering tendrils of smoke still creeping out from the corners of his full, flushed lips, and Bro’s shrinking, pulse pounding with shame as he grips the couch cushions, mouth scorching. 

“Looks like you’re going to have to try harder, then.” 

And with that, his hand is snatched up and his brother’s putting the cigarette out on his wrist. 

Immediately, Bro tenses with pain, drawing in a sharp hiss through his teeth as he shivers and squirms, doing his best not to make noise as Dave grinds it out against him, a single searing spot of sunlight on his skin. The torture doesn’t last long, only long enough to extinguish the thing, and his brother is soon flicking away the used butt. But Bro’s still shaking and sweating, staring at the swollen, stinging blister blooming on his skin. All he can do is look imploringly at Dave, lips chapped and parted, eyes watery with pain. 

All he’s met with is more of that taunting smile, crimson eyes gleaming behind mirrored shades as his brother leans back, snatching up his bag of chips and sauntering off, calling back, “Maybe that’ll remind you to think before you act next time.”

Bro’s silent, trembling as he gazes emptily at his wrist, at the perfect circle with which Dave’s marked him. Gradually, his gaze slides down next to the futon, to where his pack and lighter sit, so inviting, next to his bottle of Orange Crush.

After all, he thinks, looking back at the aching crater in his flesh, why use a proper ashtray when you had trash?


End file.
